


andromeda sniffles

by oddthirteen



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Grandad Graham, thirteen is sick, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddthirteen/pseuds/oddthirteen
Summary: tl;dr 13 gets sicky n reader is worried, also graham is the hero we all need right now.(also posted to my tumblr oddthirteen.tumblr.com)
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Reader, Thirteenth Doctor/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	andromeda sniffles

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You need to rest. You’ve been here ages. I’ll keep looking, (Y/N).”

Graham returns with more coffee for the both of you and sits alongside on the other end of the couch. His silence is a concerned one; a considerate one. His reading glasses perch on the end of his nose as he looks to you, smiling with warm compassion. You muster the most cheerful voice you can manage.

“Absolutely not. I will not have you sitting here alone. Just one of these is enough to send anyone to sleep. We must nearly be there.” You gesture to the piles of read medical literature all around your feet.

You fold your legs under you and hoist yet another heavy medical tome up onto the arm of an enormous old leather sofa. The artificially lit evening wears on and you are still no closer to finding the answer to the Doctor’s mystery ailment, multiple stacks of similar journals littering the TARDIS library floor around your feet.

The older man smiles a little wider, nodding momentarily.

“I know she means a lot to you. You’re right to be worried, but she wouldn’t want you in this state.”

You grimace; realising how hours of sub-conscious lip-chewing has left them raw.

“She means a lot to all of us. We can’t leave this damn ship ‘til she gets better. Floating around in space, hostages to an unwell alien. Didn’t see this in my horoscope.”

Graham thinks for a moment in silence as you emit a slight chuckle. You flip a page and make some notes.

“She’s been asking after you, you know. You haven’t been to see her in a day or two. Talks about you all the time.”

“Because I’ve been here. Reading these bloody journals. Fat lot of good they’ve been!”

You slam the current book shut and wave your arms in the air in exasperation, watching it fall off the arm of the chair – a groan of pent-up frustration working its way through your sore lips. Graham shuffles a little closer across the sofa, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“When someone you… care for a lot… is hurting and you can’t help, everything feels futile. I know that, cockle; trust me I do. Let’s take a step back, shall we? Have a think and a little rest. Nice walk about the place might do you some good.”

You nod, taking a deep breath and wiping your face.

“Let’s get out of here.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Graham nurse your coffee mugs as you trudge the endless TARDIS corridors in mindless conversation, reminiscing recent adventures and bantering gently. You are grateful for the older man’s presence onboard the ship – especially at times such as these – as the anchor to which you all cling when things become uneasy.

“I have been thinking, though. Maybe we couldn’t find it in the journals because it ain’t some big issue. It doesn’t seem serious – her temperature is decreasing steadily and according to Yaz she seems less nauseous. Maybe we’ve been a bit too thorough. Lost sight of the bigger picture?”

“What, like a flu? An alien flu?”

Graham chuckles.

“Yeah. Maybe. Maybe this is new?”

“Do you reckon?”

The older man looks to you.

“And if it hasn’t got a name already, then maybe you could work one out? Fun little game, right? You ought to see her, (Y/N). I’ll stay just outside, if you’d like. Promise.”

Graham extends his little finger and you begin to laugh. Wherever he’d picked up the concept of a pinky promise you had no idea, but the endearing nature of the gesture made you giggle.

“Thank you.”

You link your littlest finger with his and then break away towards the medical ward, throwing him one last look before heading to see the blonde.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“(Y/N)? Is that you?”

The Doctor sits up weakly, tired face blushing rosy pink. Toothy grin emerging through pale lips. Her book falls to one side. She tries in vain to adjust the mop of blonde hair on her head. The room is dark and dust flies about in the low reading light. She looks beautiful.

“I’m here! I’m here. I… oh stars. I am so sorry I haven’t been visiting.”

You look to the floor and feel your eyes begin to sting with guilt; voice all but reduced to a whisper. The woman you adore sat here alone in the dark. She laughs.

“Oh, no! No time for that! I’ve heard-’

She coughs feebly to a point where you think she may just vomit, but she holds herself steady. You run to fetch a bowl from beside the sink and a small glass of water.

‘Yaz told me you’ve been doing your research! She’s been worried about you, you know.”

The blonde seems to have regained a little of her coherence from the last you saw of her; wild ramblings nowhere to be seen.

“I couldn’t find anything. I tried for days – I scoured everything in the library.’

She scrunches her face a little, as if confirming some prior held assumption. Before she can interrupt, you continue.

‘But I’ve been talking to Graham a lot these past few days, right – and he said some stuff that made sense.’

“That’s a first!” She manages to sneak in, giggling like a small child after noticing your pointed glare. Remnants of the feverous delirium. Seeing the Doctor grin so wide after days without her is enough to make you almost teary eyed.

‘And he gave me an idea. Let’s name it! This virus.”

The blonde looks to you as if expecting you to continue for a few moments, her eyes fuzzy in a sleepy saccharine wonder. Her breathing is calm, and her face is still rosy with blush. She moves her gaze directly to yours and presses her tongue against her teeth.

“And… when I’m better we can try to register it with the nearest intergalactic medical authority, too! Our own little disease. Making history everywhere we go.”

She waggles her fingers and furrows her brow with as much jesting vigour as her fatigued body will allow. You look to her and then to the bed, silently asking permission to perch. She sidles all the way over and pats the empty area with a soft glee. A few moments pass before she speaks again.

“I’ve missed you.”  
You settle by her side and run your eyes over her face – soft and vulnerable. Everything inside you burns. 

“I missed you more.”

The Doctor takes your hand with little hesitation, content in your presence. You pause before pressing your lips to her sweat-slicked forehead.

“For your sake I hope this isn’t contagious.” She whispers.

You squeeze her hand and laugh, savouring the softness for the first time in days. Home. She holds your touch still for a moment.

“Wait… (Y/N), I have an idea.’

Her hands move to frame the name in the air. You double over at her dramatics.

‘The Andromeda Sniffles. How gaudy is that? Do you like it? Look at us doing medicine. Still need to figure out all the science-y stuff but I think we’re onto a winner.”

You look at the blonde, brushing her hair behind her ear gently and clasping her hand back from the air. She could have suggested anything and you’d have humoured it at this point.

“It’s perfect. Now, let’s get you sorted.”


End file.
